


Showmanship

by wifidelis



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Gore, Brutal Murder, Character Death, If you want to beat up Alastor, Mental Breakdown, Murder, Rated For Violence, Serial Killer Alastor Strikes Again, Torture, You came to the right fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifidelis/pseuds/wifidelis
Summary: Alastor goes on a murder spree and ends up hurting his closest friends in the aftermath.He hurts them worse when he goes on another spree and gets killed by Vox.[ currently on hiatus; not sure if it'll continue or not but thank you so much for reading what i have! ]
Comments: 36
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to my good friend who knows exactly who she is because she not only beta read this, she also helped me finish it with a plethora of ideas. i love her.
> 
> anyway, enjoy alastor killing things and then getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter.

One of Alastor’s allies had watched this happen countless times. Another was often sent to clean up the mess. The rest… were lucky enough to never witness Alastor’s hunger.

Alastor’s powers ranged. They flip flopped between sorcery and voodoo, between unfathomable acts of eldritch horror and unspeakable violence and sheer strength. Husk would call Alastor a gambler at heart: he played his cards close to his chest, he was a master of deceit, and often feigned ignorance when it benefited him. He seemed to walk on water, glide through this eternal hell like he owned the damn place. With a smile and an air of 1920s charm and brilliance, Alastor was able to topple overlords within days of waking up to fire and brimstone.

But Alastor wasn’t a pure demon. Alastor was still human at heart, just like the rest of them.

With that last little flicker of humanity came human desires. Desires that were never sated and could only be smothered down by distraction or self-control.

Alastor had neither.

Alastor had neither, and that was why he was currently standing in a ring of carnage and limbs, heel stabbing into the severed head of some unfortunate sinner who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was rolling it back and forth under his foot like a soccer ball, delighting in the way viscera trickled out of the neck stump.

For a second, anyone could see it. The human man who perfected the double life, shotgun slung over his shoulder with a row of rust red knives on his hip. But then all he could see was the bloodstained, gore drenched, cackling demon who had reared his leg back and kicked the head into the side of a building, his pleasure exploding when he watched it burst upon impact.

Those who knew Alastor as well as one could knew he thought this was an art form. It was merely another aspect of his craft among the radio horror shows and the bloodstained broadcasts. Yet they didn’t see what Alastor did - none of them did - but only two knew that this was the only remaining sliver of humanity Alastor possessed. The only true, raw emotion he could muster anymore.

That uncontrollable, insatiable perversion for slaughter.

You could see it grow in Alastor like the shadows under Husk’s eyes. His moods would swing violently, his grip on you would tighten, and you would feel a pair of eyes butchering you from afar. It was all hidden under a friendly smile that betrayed obsession. Whatever attachment Alastor had to you would vanish like fog in the sun, replaced with a maniac who thought only of who to victimize and shred into ribbons.

Alastor’s coat slowly slid off his shoulders, falling onto the ground and absorbing the blood that lapped at his feet like the waves of the ocean. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing scratch scarred arms where his victims had tried to claw their way out from under his control, tugging on his gloves as he examined the ring. He was looking for movement. Like a fucking shark when it smelled blood. 

And when an arm twitched, Alastor moved like a whip. He grabbed it and hauled it out, throwing the mangled, unrecognizable shape into the center. It sounded like it was begging as Alastor’s eyes lost their red color - going absolutely and utterly black like the pits of abyss - but Alastor wasted no time. His outline radiated red as the radio towers around them popped and crackled and screamed, radios roaring to life as Alastor’s broadcast resumed without introduction.

The knife gouged open a ribcage. Hands tore out organs; a kidney, a liver, a lung. The screams weren’t even screams; they were merely tired cries of anguish. When Alastor tired of hands scrambling at him, he lopped them off in two clean chops. When the noise got annoying, he cut out the tongue. He had a formula he followed for maximum entertainment, gutting open from the inside out. It was hard to look at Alastor and see anything that remained of his forced persona when he was licking off a knife and ripping raw flesh from bone to shove down his throat raw. The deer-like man was gone, replaced with a wendigo feasting on its victim’s pain and flesh before staggering to its feet when it stopped struggling.

Alastor couldn’t see straight. The world was an amorphous blob. His smile was lackadaisical and airy, licking blood off his lips before popping each finger in his mouth. His gait was off. Staggering. The man was absolutely and utterly high off his ass when he bent back down, clutching his victim’s chin before ripping the jaw off with a wet squelch and horrible grinding sound, claiming it as a trophy. He appraised it from a distance before dropping it to the ground, unsatisfied with the cracks and fissures he’d put it in. Kneeling down, he rifled through the body, trying to find something left pristine. Finding nothing, he stabbed a red bladed knife into the corpse’s heart, watching the body go up in smoke and ash. Never to return.

When a locket clattered to the ground, he decided this would be his trophy. Alastor snatched it up, popping the heart open to see a picture of a young human child. He smiled. These were the best trophies besides skulls. The sentimental shit made his heart race, imagining what he’d ripped away from the deceased and from the hearts of those still living.

His hands were shaking as he sheathed the knife on his belt, tucking the locket in his breast pocket. Every inch of Alastor wanted more. More blood down his throat, more skin between fanged teeth, more bones cracking between his fingers, more knives cutting through fragile paper thin bodies. He felt a brief pang of fear somewhere deep in his mind - he feared that he was utterly out of control and vulnerable in this state - but he couldn’t force himself to care for long. 

He loved to kill. As he shrugged on the blood soaked jacket, Alastor vaguely recalled being unable to control the urges as a human. How he’d fret and worry and make himself sick trying not to give in to feral passions. But then the first knife fell and the first spray of scarlet across his face touched his tongue and Alastor  _ fell in love  _ for the first time in his life. His mother tried to hide his crimes at first, but her son always demanded an audience. It would’ve been clear to even a mother that her son was less than human.

But nothing could make him happier. Nothing than this perfect sphere of control and emotion.

When Alastor’s father taught him the magic of their ancestors… well, Alastor’s humanity went up in flames. Too demon to be human. Too human to be demon.

Alastor didn’t  _ care _ . 

The next victims weren’t as entertaining. Alastor could only feel the heat within him growing stronger as they went up in smoke and ash from the exterminator’s knife, savoring their different tastes on his tongue before the void claimed wayward souls. It was formulaically beautiful how he killed. He had been blackened by the blood coating him from head to toe, caking his hair and staining his skin as it dried down. 

At one point, he walked past a house playing his broadcast. He ventured inside, and made sure they got a taste of being his (un)live audience.

When his fingers ripped through muscles and sinews digging for clean bones, he finally felt it. Alastor let out a muffled grunt that softened into a moan, collapsing to his knees before the corpses. He fell backwards as he ripped out a femur, collapsing against the wall, coddling it like it was his new cane. Alastor let out a strangled moan as warmth seeped through his body down into the very atoms of his being, face flushed as he finally opened his eyes with complete clarity to the chaos he’d caused. 

Every vein torn, every nerve sliced, every muscle piece of sinew and tissue, every inch of splattered organs and shredded viscera across the floors and walls were in plain sight for him. He felt the rush of fear again  _ that horrible thought of being caught  _ before he remembered he’d  _ already been caught _ and was in Hell.

There were no consequences. Alastor was free to spread terror wherever he wanted.

He was satisfied. The hunger was gone. Alastor staggered to his feet, warm and happy, and began his trek home. His smile was larger than life.

* * *

He was unsurprised to find both Husk and Niffty waiting for him upon return. Husk took one look at Alastor, streaked and painted black with layer upon layer of blood, and poured himself a drink. Niffty darted forward and started stripping off the bloody layers before they could stain the carpet. She immediately whisked them away to the wash when Alastor sat down at the bar, giving Husk the most self-entitled, condescending smirk he could muster.

“You’re disgusting,” Husk snapped, throwing a bottle of cognac right at his head. Alastor caught it was a lazy kind of ease, snapping his fingers and letting his shadowy companions mix and pour the amber booze for him. He brought the glass to his lips and smirked.

“It’s showmanship, my friend,” Alastor practically purred. “It’s utterly brilliant.”

“It’s sick,” Husker bristled.

Alastor drank long and hard. “Oh? Then shall we recount your transgressions? At least I live up to mine.”

Husker knew better than to try violence with Alastor, but he was close. Claws dug into the wood counter and Alastor beamed knowing damn well he’d slipped right under Husker’s skin. Husker opened his mouth to retort when Niffty reappeared with a set of clean clothes. She set them carefully on the bartop before disappearing, leaving the two in their argument again.

“Why does it bother you so?” Alastor chided, allowing his shadow to pour him another glass. “There’s art in death. Why, the Victorians-”

“It’s the fact that you enjoy it. It’s fucking sick. You get all hot and bothered the moment you start moaning about a killing spree, and then you come back looking like you raided a concentration camp with the widest fucking smile on your face.”

Alastor scoffed. “It’s passion, darling. It would do you well to find some again … Or were the women and children you killed in Vietnam not enou-”

“SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH,” Husker hurled a glass at Alastor’s face, unsurprised but furious when the glass exploded and rained down across the counter. Husker was breathing heavy, stopping only to slam back more than a shot of vodka. He was ready to kill himself trying to claw out Alastor’s eyes.

“Oh, my friend, embrace it,” Alastor took another long sip. “You enjoyed it as much as I.”

“They were fucking  _ children _ . I was on  _ orders _ -”

“I don’t believe that’s true!” Alastor laughed, his fucking noise following suit. “Not for one measly second.”

“Even you wouldn’t stoop so low as to kill a child, so don’t fucking try to bring me down to that level.”

Alastor finished his glass and leaned forward with a smile empty of everything. Husk leaned away from the fucker with disgust written all over his face as Alastor smeared who fucking know’s blood over the blackened counter top, ignoring the jovial laughter that radiated out from Alastor’s eternal chatterbox of chaos. He swore he saw something resembling concern in Alastor’s eyes for the briefest moment of a second before it vanished. Alastor snapped and Husk was dragged by invisible hands back to meet his vaguely defined friend, nearly retching when Alastor swiped a bloody thumb over pristine white fur.

“There’s no need to be scared of what’s natural, Husker,” he purred. “No one would blame you if you wanted a taste-”

“Fucking  _ Hell _ , you’re impossible when you’re like this,” Husk slapped his hand away. “Fuck off and come apologize to me when your high’s gone.”

Alastor visibly flinched before poison clouded his drunken gaze. “... At least I face my issues head on rather than boozing them away into an inescapable oblivion like a  _ fucking _ coward-”

“Alastor shut your fucking mouth-” Claws had carved trenches in the glimmering wood.

“-making excuses over and over and over again while I pick up after your sordid actions while you sob over demons you refuse to face-”

“AL-”

“-because you refuse to move forward! Just sit in place and wallow over  _ anything  _ that mildly upsets or inconveniences you-”

“You wanna play that fucking game,  _ Alastor _ ?” Husk snarled, eyes narrowed into barely visible slits, shoulders hiked and bristling. “Really? You really wanna pick a fight with the only person in Hell who can stand to listen to you fucking ramble about whatever crosses your sick mind for more than five fucking minutes? The only person who won’t run away in fear of your fucking blood drenched, cannibalistic ass?  _ You’re fucking sick _ . You terrify the entire Pentagram because you think it’s  _ funny  _ and then get pissy like a little kid when no one wants to be around you. Because everyone is fucking  _ terrified  _ of you. Because they’re disgusted with what you are because you’re a fucking sociopathic serial killer on  _ steroids  _ whose fucking mother wouldn’t even recognize the monster he’s always been- oh  _ SHIT _ -”

Alastor was at his neck the moment Husk mentioned his mom.

More precisely, Alastor was  _ strangling him  _ the moment Husk had cursed.

The Radio Demon smirked as bottles rained down as Husk was hammered into the shelves, gagging as his wings were jostled to the sides unceremoniously as legs scrambled to get a fucking grip or any kind of leverage against Alastor’s death grip around his windpipe. He swore he  _ heard  _ the vertebrae in his neck popping and jostling against his spine as Alastor squeezed until black spots clouded his vision and blood roared in his ears, his expression melting from utter fury into relaxation and bliss as Husk’s life was smashed out between his fingers. Blissed out and high until Husk got his claws around a very heavy bottle and fucking  _ swung _ with nothing but fear and terror and disbelief that Alastor, his friend, his partner, his  _ friend _ was actually trying  _ to kill him  _ and probably  _ didn’t fucking realize it- _

Because Alastor normally came out of this with no fucking memory of what had transpired until he looked at his fucking trophies and the hunger renewed again with full and complete vigor.

But as clear liquid and the hot stench of vodka exploded in the air, Alastor’s grip on his throat snapped loose and Husk slid down against the cabinets in a gasping, raspy, gagging heap as Alastor’s hands went to cradle his head with a low whine and flat line of static. Husk scrambled away from him, grabbing another bottle _ just in case _ , when it finally registered with him that none of Alastor’s chaos had emerged.

No horns, no runes, no screeching, no crackling red pits for eyes that ticked like dials-

It was just Alastor who had tried to kill him.

Just Alastor.

Not the Radio Demon.

Alastor.

_ friend partner friend alastor his alastor a friend only friend his alastor _

When Alastor finally raised his head, Husk saw the high was gone. Alastor’s eyes were mostly confused and probably pissed that his head now ached like a truck ran over it, but when he turned to Husk. And Husk jumped away through shards of glass. And there was nothing but dull confusion as Alastor’s ears went flat and he reached out and Husk  _ ran _ .

* * *

Normally, Husk would be avoiding Alastor because Alastor would be hunting him down across the ends of Hell to try and apologize and suck up and do whatever he could do in his power to make Husk happy again.

But instead, Alastor was going on a rampage that had essentially thrown his own territory through a meat grinder before deciding it’d be a  _ fabulous fucking idea  _ to go reign chaos in  _ fucking Vox’s territory  _ before the carnage reached unprescedented levels of stupid and devastating and  _ Lucifer himself  _ had to quell the storm.

Charlie had been pacing the hotel lobby during that phone call, so Husk had been lucky enough to hear it.

“I know, I know, Dad, I’m-”

A pause. Husk was actually grateful for his heightened sense of hearing for once.

“... He wasn’t hurt, right?”

A longer pause. Charlie gasped and then stumbled over to a couch. She pinched the bridge of her nose and he thought she was just annoyed before he heard her sniffing. Then she hung up.

And then she was sobbing.

* * *

Alastor did not fight well if he didn’t have a clear head.

Vox knew that.

“Did your little pussy cat upset you, Bambi? Did you have another lover’s quarrel?” Vox’s voice seemed to be coming from every fucking direction. “Maybe you should just let him shove a barbed dick up your ass-”

Alastor was wheezing through broken ribs, a scream ripping through his throat as Vox slammed a heeled dress shoe down on his abdomen, puncturing through soft gray skin and fabric and yelping before it faded into a distorted moan of pain, curling into himself when Vox pulled his foot back and slammed a kick right into the fresh gash, cackling as the wound ripped open and Alastor vomited blood as the lightheaded sensation of Vox’s leather shoe grazing his liver erased anything and everything out of his mind as pain and agonized moaning took precedent. Vox knelt down and grabbed his hair between shrinking antlers, ripping Alastor’s head up to stare at the demon through buzzing neon eyes. It was hard to think. Thinking by itself required higher thought and higher thought went out the window when your worst fucking enemy was toying with you like a doll, like a toddler ripping the wings off a fly. Instead of thinking he was reduced to  _ feeling _ , feeling that Alastor  _ hated  _ because that was emotion that was wild and uncontrolled and. And it was terrifying because this had spiraled and plummeted far out of his realm of control. He was limp, unable to raise his arms and yeah, Alastor knew what was coming next. He’d watched what Vox would do multiple times to other unfortunate fuckers who picked a fight with Vox. The thought of that by itself was terrifying because Vox hadn’t even had a bone to pick with them,  _ but with Alastor?  _ Alastor had given Vox enough reasons to wipe him off the face of the earth with a nuclear warhead.

His head swam as disgust flooded his veins as Vox made a kissy face at him. “Cute ‘lil Bambi. You know I love seeing you like this.”

Vox licked a claw and plunged it into Alastor’s cheek, slicing through gray skin at a snail’s pace. The TV Demon licked his lips as blood slowly pooled and sphered and dripped line by scarlet line down scraped up rawed up dead up skin, right from ear to the corner of Alastor’s rapidly deteriorating smile. Alastor was squirming. He wanted Vox to stop touching him, stop violating him, stop insinuating things Alastor had killed people over, stop stop stop stop the less than anything stop the being reduced to a toy a broken toy at that because Alastor could feel practically taste how Vox  _ adored this. _ Adored breaking him and worse.

Worse was that Vox knew, to some extent, that Alastor enjoyed it.

“You know, I heard you like organs. Wonder what yours tastes like.”

Alastor’s body jumped involuntarily as Vox wiggled his fingers with a light smile, tenderly holding Alastor’s shuddering form. Blue tipped claws drifted light as a feather down uncountable amounts of slashes and bleeding wounds before tapping around the hole Vox had already torn open. Vox hesitated for a second before smirking, grazing lower. Too low. Way too fucking low and Alastor mustered whatever fucking energy he had to raise his arm like it was made of cement and  _ shove  _ Vox’s hand away as repulsion forced bile up his throat. Vox giggled like a mad man as Alastor’s head snapped to the side and he puked a steady stream of acid and blood, wheezes hitching into cries as wounds bled into each other and the stinging evolved into knives through every tender coil and loop of sinew. He was ripped from this moment as Vox’s fingers danced around the wound he’d already done a fine fucking job of antagonizing. Alastor gnashed down on his teeth, body coiling like a spring as he tensed stiff as a board. Vox tutted and Alastor made the crucial mistake of relaxing and questioning  _ hoping  _ because then Vox beamed and whistled and claws shredded through what little remained uncut around his abdomen, dissecting and vivisecting up to the base of his ribcage, exposing pearly white bone and sacks of membrane that was housing what few organs and veins hadn’t begun bleeding internally as blood poured out overflowing from what was already gushing like an overflowing pipe. Alastor laughed hysterically with a long gasp and panicked intake of air and tried to writhe away as his vision started to cloud around the edges, nails digging into the cement as he seized when Vox gasped.

Alastor’s body jumped like it was electrocuted when Vox’s fingers plunged through the sticky membrane locked around the feeling of fires starting wherever Vox grazed that launched into full on infernos whenever he cut deeper, the phantom burn and lightning and acid of whatever was jostled around inside him cutting down into the marrow of every goddamn bone he had broken or not, tightening around a length of intestine and hauled the organ out with a wet scream from Alastor and heavy mantra of broken French cursing, slime coating fingers and blood exploding in a spray. Vox twisted Alastor’s head back with no pity, forcing the demon to watch with dull dawning horror, eyes wide, as Vox’s long tongue unfurled with saliva dripping down onto his face. Alastor felt another wave of nausea and his stomach flipped. A snarl of abhorrence resounded from deep within Alastor’s shredded throat, melting into a whine when the sound became to much, before bursting into a mewl when Vox’s tongue snaked around the organ when Alastor fell silent, the only thing he could muster being tortured labored breathing that hitched every fucking time the tongue looped and twisted down from disgust and violation alone, the demon letting out a low, low dark laugh before cocking that fucking TV head and smirking, eye glittering.

He adjusted Alastor against his chest and gripped the organ with a death grip, free hand prying open Alastor’s mouth and pinning fingers between the wedges of Alastor’s blood drenched teeth. Viscerous blood dripped down Vox’s hand as he yanked, delighting in the silent tears that dripped down Alastor’s cheeks in jagged rivers weathering away at the dried blood already coating him as everything slowly began to collapse, stinging like hornets as they made contact with the open cuts on his cheeks. More intestine flopped lifelessly across Alastor’s eviscerated stomach before Vox hummed and shoved it down Alastor’s throat.

To say Alastor gagged was an understatement, chest lurching up and slamming back down as he struggled to breathe around the slimy, dripping, pulsating- around his own fucking intestines as Vox shoved more of the length down and Alastor screamed, mind numb but on full overdrive from fear and pain and everything in between upsidedown and backwards all around and unthinking as agony became his entire being. There was right or wrong, no memory, no identity besides utter bone crushing torment, no more  _ anything as _ Vox shoved more down, ripping out longer and longer coils as organs shifted in his gut and collapsed in the nearly empty cavity and blood poured freely like an overflowing goblet and he had no understanding of how or why he was still awake when Vox removed his fingers and  _ slammed his fucking jaw shut and Alastor bit through his own fucking intestines. _

His mind broke.

He was gone. Gone as frigid shock took over when acidic, hot bile tried to force its way past organs and clogged blood and Alastor went out in fiery, stinging, shattering, snapping, numbing agony as he choked and weight upon weight pressed down on his chest as everything tried to rise up and cram in his windpipe like death had already decided to make its home in his near corpse as his ears rang with sirens and ringing screams and spots blotted out his vision as eyes rolled back in his head and blood drowned his lungs and the spot between his eyes was dug into like the bullet was lodged itself in his fucked up mixed up brains over and over again, out and in out and in out and in and he fucking deserved this because he remembered through Vox’s claws ripping out the inside of his espophagus as more blood impossibly more blood flooded out. Vox dropped his crippled body unceremoniously and Alastor slammed back on the concrete as Vox held onto the rest of the intestine and more more more slithered out and Alastor could barely see through the black as gargled screams drowned in his throat that Vox had straddled him with the pinky grey snake in his hands and

and wrapped it around Alastor’s throat and cackled like a madman as air was ripped away from Alastor

is this how husk felt

is this what he did to husk is this what he fucking did because alastor couldn’t scream couldn’t beg as vox kept tightening the intestine like a constrictor and his bones were melting and resolidifying in horrible order and fire lit up his veins and fear fueled adrenaline assaulted his system as hands and claws tried to rip through the organ but he couldn’t find the fucking courage because every clawed swipe at the snake sent waves of panic through alastor because he couldn’t cut open his guts he couldn’t handle more pain phantom or not anything more was

screams ripped through when there was the sick snap of bone and the fire of nerves being shredded and torn apart and dull throbbing like a rusty knife stabbing through the left side of his head and face and neck rang like the toll of a bell and just just as that faded and he tried to catch wheezing barely fucking functional breath an explosion burst through his chest with shrapnel as more snapping popping grinding scraping stomach churning vile vile vile stop stop  _ stop _ sent everything over everything pouring over as multiple punctures dug right through everything and his breathing was abruptly cut off as something popped and ripped right into the deepest cavity of his chest and suddenly everything was going dark because how much more how much fucking more did he fucking have to take before this stopped because it was too fucking much as it stabbed in again, ripping right out through the top of his chest and out his back and he was laughing laughing hard hard hard until all the sound stopped because he couldn’t fucking  _ breathe why why why why was this was this was _

was this what husk felt like is that what he fucking did he hurt husk he hurt husk so bad and he hated it hated himself hated his temper hated hurting husk husk didn’t deserve that huks was attacke d by a monster an aboslute fucking monster xexcept iut wasn;’t even the fucking rdio demon who attacke r husk it was HUIM it was fucking AlzATOR ins all his fucking cannibalistic serial killer psychopath monster disgting taste iof your own medicine monster mknster monster MONSTER MONSTE MOSRTER glass shattered and sprayed ad sprinkled down down raining down hurt hurt hurt hurt husk why why why why wh hurt person cared person cared just like  _ maman  _ wanted forgive apologize sory sorry sory sorry husk sorry maman sorry son is just a fuck up sorry son was born with a screw loose hahahahahahahah scrww loose all the brains got scrambled with the fucking bullet hoTHE FUCK WAS HE STILL ALIVE haha this was fair he deserved this deserved on a silver platter with eyebalsl and grape what was the different where was husk was charlie niffty?? where was up where was maman would she would she woulde could she see her baby boy gettin strangled with his own fuckine gutsqw why wasnt she helping where was she where washhe where was hse where was she  _ nononononoojonknjon husk husk husk husk help help helpaidez-moiaidez-moiaidez-moihusk  _ get out get out get out of your mind juts fuckina die already DIE ALREADY aidez-moi DIE DIE DIE DIE nuent fin aidezx-moi mamna hsk hsk ah ah hahahahahahahahahha no one coming no one care s monsert monster YOU are a MONSTER

* * *

Ripping the location out of Charlie was like ripping out individual molars by the root. She had begged him not to fucking go through tears and snot, at one point hanging on his leg as Niffty whacked her off with a broom. The little cyclops demon had crawled up on Husk’s shoulder with a shining eye, not a word spoken between them.

Because what the hell was there to be said when they finally got there?

Husk had nearly collapsed to his knees on spot. Niffty’s tears were instantaneous, hands over her trembling lips as she tried not to scream crying.

Alastor was nearly unrecognizable smear on the ground.

His body was as gnarled and twisted as the one onyx antler that remained in tact, the other snapped out of his skull puncturing up and through his ribcage, the flesh around it grinded and churned like raw meat. The smell of blood hung like chains around your neck, coating the scene like a second skin. It was like he was laying out crucified on the ground, arms splayed out and held lolled back and mouth hanging open in a silent scream, the… the length of something dark red and pink and gray and wet trailing out between yellow teeth, entire abdomen vivisected open up the the base of his rib cage where his antler was jammed in, intestines flopped around and hanging loosely all over the place, other organs far gone and collapsed from their proper places-

Husk puked. He felt sick down to his core as his eyes watered and Niffty was slowly trying to walk forward and stumbling every few steps because she couldn’t muster the courage to face whatever had happened. He wiped the bile off the corner of his mouth and tried to steady her, honey gold eyes locking on Alastor’s all but mangled form when it suddenly smacked him upside the head that somehow

somehow Al’s chest was still rising with shuddered, short wheezing breaths.

Husk sprinted and slid through the ring of  _ Alastor’s  _ blood, ignoring the way it caked uncomfortably through fur and all the way down to his skin. Niffty was at his side in an instant, falling to her knees and grabbing Alastor’s hand, avoiding the areas where his gloves had been shredded off around the rubbed raw and shattered fingertips. She brought it to her chest, her face paling when she watched Alastor’s elbow move the joint in the exact opposite way it was intended to. Husk touched his face where a long, gored out cut slashed through down to the point where his smile normally ended, a hollow emptiness carving holes out in his chest.

“A-al?” Niffty asked, voice shaking.

He didn’t respond. How the fuck was he supposed to? His throat had been slashed open too.

Husk put a paw over Alastor’s eyes. They were staring blankly, unseeing, with his pupils and irises and sclera gone and static raging inside practically empty sockets. He closed his eyelids, and Alastor’s chest rose once, shuddering like a leaf in the wind, pausing for an impossibly long moment.

“Just let go, Al. We’ll see you soon.”

And collapsed for the final time.

Niffty hung her head as fat tears rolled from her eye. Husk hauled her against him, emptiness raging like static inside his chest as silent tears fell on their own accord freely and without restraint. Around them, the red lights beamed from buildings shattered bulb by bulb, the electric towers and radio screeching filling the air as Alastor’s domain began to collapse, rising into a cacophony of untuned belligerence. Within the whitenoise’s chaos, Husk and Niffty cradled the broken Overlord, the littler demon burying her face in his shoulder as hiccups and sobs racked her frame. Husk placed Alastor’s head on his lap and stroked his black tipped, blood matted hair after shutting his jaw, the length of whatever was crammed down his throat falling into their little lake of scarlet with a gentle, fat plop. Tears fell against Alastor’s pale face, cutting sharp streaks through the grime coating him as Niffty howled and Husk sat completely numbly silent waiting for what came next.

It seemed an impossible long time before Alastor’s body started to smoke and drift away up to the sky like ash, swirling in the air as the wind picked up. The radios around his domain played a melancholy tune before finally crackling out and the buzz of dead air drilled right down into the fine fibers of skin. Skin went first, then muscle, then bone. Until finally he was gone with the wind, leaving Husk and Niffty to wonder when the Hell he’d resurface.

What would resurface.

If it would be their Alastor who would resurface.

Husk held Niffty while she cried, sitting in the lake of Alastor’s blood.

* * *

His chest felt like it was cracking under the pressure of the first inhale, tears brimming in red eyes as they snapped open. What felt like a fist in his gut brought on rolling waves of flipping nausea, rolling onto his side as a mixture of blood and bile and… and intestine ripped through the still raw meat of his esophagus as he puked everything in his stomach out with wet retching, gasping for that precious oxygen as he spat the last bits of bile out. He collapsed without any energy in his system to keep his body upright, head swimming with his stomach when something scratched through his bangs up his head and he went absolutely frozen locked in time as his head snapped up and he jolted away but he moved too fast and everything went blurry as stars swam-

“Shh, shh, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Alastor still jolted away from the touch of whatever was trying to roll him on his back, though there was no real fight in avoiding it. His head lolled to the side, trying to piece together whatever was trying to organize his disoriented state. It was impossible. Alastor locked up again when something grazed his sore cheek, the touch seeming invasive and domineering rather than gentle or kind. It quickly removed itself, and there was a quick reshuffle of position as the platform under him dipped and another weight joined him.

“Can you hear me?”

… did he even want to answer?

“Alastor, I swear- it’s literally just fuckin’ me. No one else.”

There was fear in that voice. But? He pried open his eyes, blinking rapidly to readjust to light when he made out the vaguely defined form of a cat demon, looking disheveled and scared. His tail twitched anxiously where it was wrapped around his feet, wings folded in tightly and ears flattened back. His gold eyes were tiny slits. Alastor felt like he should know… something related to what was happening, but he couldn’t pin it. He felt weak and tiny and damaged and everything hurt and his head-

The cat reached out to brush hair out of Alastor’s face and Alastor jumped backwards. Its paw abruptly came back folded against his own chest, eyes wide and looking scared. Alastor had no fucking idea what he looked like, but he was sure it was wild eyed and crazed because his chest was shaking and his throat was letting out this god awful wheezing sound that sounded panicked and uncomfortably raspy. The cat demon held his paw, looking down at the empty space between them with a long, long stare.

Alastor wanted away. Away from all of this, just to hide and disappear and-

“Al, I’m not gonna hurt you…”

His gaze snapped back up, eyes sharp and tight. How the hell was he supposed to know that was true? Memories danced on the fringes of his fragmented mind, memories of this cat demon and… a bottle? Smashed-

Alastor slashed his hand through the air and he went flying across the room, smacking into the wall hard enough to knock pictures off the wall and a vase crashing to the floor. The sound startled him, jumping as a low whine filled the otherwise silent air as Alastor’s noise came back to life. He cursed and dragged himself to his feet, rubbing his back. Alastor was sitting up, hand glowing with a thick ball of rapidly expanding and shrinking energy held within, ears flattened back. He wanted to get up and get rid of this… this person but he felt oddly off balance and-

_ “Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot, prête-moi ta plume pour écrire un mot…” _

He stopped cold as the cat demon began singing in a soft, low, gravelly voice. It… was familiar. A warm kind of familiar. The magic within his palm died until it popped out of existence and the cat demon took a few small steps forward.

“ _ Ma chandelle est morte, je n’ai plus de feu, ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l’amour de Dieu.” _

Alastor had allowed him to get as close as he could to the bed without being on it. His eyes were jumping from shadow to shadow across the room, heart hammering within his chest. Something was coming. This wasn’t… right? There were gaps. Gaps everywhere. Gaps in his memory, in him, in the walls-

“ _ Au clair de la lune Pierrot répondit: ‘Je n’ai pas de plume, je suis dans mon lit. Va chez la voisine, je crois qu’elle y est, car dans sa cuisine on bat le briquet.” _

There was a heavy silence as the cat demon stopped singing and Alastor watched as he extended his hand again, slow as slow could be. He stared at it for a while, eyes darting from the paw to the owner with a furrowed brow and a skittish glance. The demon looked like he was on the verge of tears as Alastor painstakingly extended his own hand, pausing above the pads of the paw, eyes locked on the claws. The claws.

Claws.

**_claws ripping out the inside of his esophagus as more blood impossibly more blood flooded out_ **

Alastor’s noise screamed and he went to throw the demon away again, objects already floating ready for the impending impalement, when he tackled Alastor, throwing him back against the bed, inserting claws between fingers to ensure there was no chance of Alastor snapping some horrible event into existence. The cat saw the monster within start to emerge before… before it vanished, replaced with a teary eyed obscenely red colored deer demon with ears flattened back against his head. The cat demon jumped off abruptly, raising his paws to properly place himself down when Alastor  _ flinched and shielded himself. _

The cat couldn’t believe his fucking eyes.

Alastor was trembling behind x crossed arms. It moved them aside gently, frowning. Alastor opened one eye, shock on the surface right for the world to see. The cat demon laughed, but it was empty. It backed off and resumed singing.

“ _ Au clair de la lune l’aimable lubin frappe chez la brune, elle répond soudain, ‘Qui frappe de la sorte? Il dit- _ ”

Alastor looked enamored. But more than anything he looked lost. There was no gleam of recollection in his eyes, and that made the fur on the back of the cat’s neck stand up fucking straight as a board.

“Alastor, do you know who I am?”

Nothing. Not a click of recollection in watery red eyes. Alastor didn’t have an answer. He seemed like he wanted one, though, opening before snapping his mouth closed.

“Alastor, my name is Husk,” the other demon’s voice broke. “I’m… We’re… Friends. In fact, you’re my best friend. I-i’ve fought beside you and… sometimes you’re a dick or I’m a dick and we piss each other off, but we’re friends. I… You’ve, um… been through something bad. Really bad. And I’m not sure if you not knowing what the hell’s going on is better or worse than remembering.”

Alastor blinked. The cat demon… Husk, extended a single claw and Alastor let it touch the side of his face that was most sore before locking up because 

**_licked a claw and plunged it into Alastor’s cheek, slicing through gray skin at a snail’s pace_ **

and 

**_infernos whenever he cut deeper, the phantom burn and lightning and acid of whatever was jostled around inside him cutting down into the marrow of every goddamn bone he had broken or not, tightening around a length of intestine and hauled the organ out with a wet scream from Alastor and heavy mantra of broken French cursing, slime coating fingers and blood exploding in a spray_ **

The memories came flooding back and Alastor sunk down silently, hands coming up around his throat without so much as any noise save for the steady hum and clicking of the radio. One remained as the other dropped to his stomach, clenching around the fabric of his nightshirt. Both hands were shaking violently. His gaze was focused on nothing, drilling right through everything including Husk, as snippets of memory assaulted him and random pain radiated from every inch of his entire body until mute tears were falling freely onto the sheets and his heart was hammering within the radio noise, reflecting in a steady  _ click on click off click on click off _ as a dizzy feeling rooted in his head as he slumped back, tingling blurring out any sense of direction in his limbs as his vision narrowed to a tiny tunnel and his throat

felt like it was closing tight and alastor grabbed at it and tried to claw it open, but husk was faster and took the hands away as every muscle in al’s body locked up tight  _ click on skip click off skip click click click skip  _ and threw away the key and husk was trying to shush him, assure everything was okay, he was safe, nothing here was gonna hurt him, he could breathe, nothing was around or in or touching his throat and slowly, slowly alastor’s eyes refocused and he came back to reality and his radio noise stopped skipping beats and alastor let husk swipe away the tears with a soft knuckle before finally rooting down in reality and his head snapped up and finally fucking saw Husk.

_ “Je suis vraiment désolé je suis vraiment désolé je suis vraiment désolé je suis vraiment désolé je suis vraiment désolé je suis vraiment désolé je suis vraiment désolé je suis vraiment désolé-” _

Husk still couldn’t touch him. One look at Alastor told him that between the staring in horror at his hands and trembling and shaking and tears-

“It’s okay,” Husk whispered. Alastor stopped, hands still rigid and popping and shaking. He looked confused and horrified and disgusted with himself from the way his jaw set in a straight, harsh line.

“I-i hurt y-you-”

“Yeah, and it fuckin’ sucked but you got hurt worse and I don’t care anymore,” Husk’s voice was barely audible. “It’s not okay and if you do it again I’ll kick your ass, but… Alastor, are you okay?”

Alastor looked down at his hands and then at Husk.

He cracked the tiniest of smirks, corner of his lip twitching as he tried to keep it up.

“I think I’m broken, Husker.”

“You’re not broken, Al,” Husk didn’t fight the tears dripping down.

Alastor’s laugh was air headed and breathless before it broke into a string of high pitched giggles as  _ long tongue unfurled with saliva dripping down onto his face  _ growing louder and higher as  _ onto the rest of the intestine and more more more slithered out and Alastor could barely see through the black as gargled screams drowned in his throat that XXX had straddled him with the pinky grey snake in his hands  _ with Husk trying to shush him without touching him as  _ slammed his fucking jaw shut and Alastor bit through his own fucking intestines  _ and Husk finally decided enough was enough but so did Alastor because he collapsed on Husk, still giggling, still laughing hysterically as he cried and forced that goddamn fucking twitching smile on his face as hands knotted in his fur.

Husk held a broken man in his arms and wished he knew how to put the pieces back together.


	2. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week later, and Alastor isn't in as much control of himself as he's making himself out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. Showmanship is now a series! Wow! Okay!
> 
> As for an update schedule... I am a tired college student and I often have very limited free time. I'll try and post updates on my Tumblr (wi-fidelis), but I'll try and keep it once every week? Probably updating more on weekends is my guess. Anyway! Don't know how long this will be in entirety, and chapter length will vary. The first chapter was just long as hell so it could stand alone if need be.
> 
> Onto the angst!

Alastor had been… distant. Since everything happened.

Today was about the first day Husk had seen him in the lobby since his first breakdown when he reformed. He still looked tired and exhausted a week later, and according to the little one-eyed chatterbox polishing his bartop, Alastor wasn’t sleeping. He didn’t want to know why or how Niffty knew that, but it was clear to see she was right. Husk set a polished glass down and she quickly stored it and resumed polishing, humming to herself.

Husk was watching Alastor.

His movements lacked the usual precision and outlandish gestures, instead falling directly under the category of laggard and heavy handed. He was leaning heavily on his microphone, its eye looking up at its master with confusion. Charlie was showing him something and his eyes lacked their usual glimmer. His smile was, at the very least, forced. Hair more dishelved than usual, dark shadows under his eyes.

“You gotta stop,” Niffty chimed, taking another glass and storing it. Husk huffed, knowing damn well she was right. No use worrying about problems that Alastor wouldn’t even admit to. He was about to pass Niffty the wood polish when he caught her watching, clucking his tongue at her. She snatched it with a sheepish glance, spraying it on her rag and kneeling down to start polishing the ornate designs when the both heard an abrupt screech of distinctly Alastor-related noise. Husk jumped up, Niffty practically hauling herself up on the previously clean counter to see. Charlie had apparently left Alastor’s side and was halfway across the lobby to head upstairs when her head snapped around and her entire body pivoted.

A patron had accidentally shoulder-checked Alastor.

The accident part didn’t seem to matter because Alastor’s cosmic voodoo wrath was out in its entire glory and he grabbed the poor unfortunate fucker and chucked him against the opposite wall like he was made of air. The lesser demon gagged as blood dripped from between lips, eyes wide with horror when Alastor ripped into the inside of his coat and Husk and Niffty were both moving at once.

“ALASTOR-”

“AL, STOP-”

Niffty yelped as she was hurled back by some invisible force a good few feet, tumbling in a heap of skirt and confusion right at Charlie’s feet. The princess knelt down to help her up, looking absolutely bewildered. Husk forced his way through Alastor’s barrier right as he saw the red bladed extermination knife make its grand appearance, only to get thrown back against the banister, collapsing right beside Niffty. He tried to get himself up quick through the stars, shaking out loose feathers and ready to try and tackle the demon again when everyone saw the knife fly and peg the lesser demon right between the eyes.

There was a bloodcurdling scream and flash of silver, and all that remained was ash and a few chunks of bone.

Alastor’s chest was heaving as his chaos faded, hand still outstretched from throwing the knife. It dropped to his side as vague reality crept back into a glowing red gaze, a dull tolling sense of horror starting to blossom and unfurl instead. Husk and Niffty were frozen staring at him, both not knowing what the hell to do or how to react. Alastor glanced at the bloody smear left on the wall, then at his hand that had thrown the knife, then at the two of them.

He stumbled back a foot.

“Niffty, go clean that up,” Husk managed to rasp out. She nodded and zipped away to grab her cleaning supply especially tailored to Alastor, reappearing in seconds pouring peroxide on the carpet. Charlie collapsed on the stairs, jaw hanging open, trying to process everything she’d just witnessed. Husk was at Alastor’s side in an instant.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey look at me, no not at that, at me-”

Alastor’s head slowly ripped away from the sight Niffty was now cleaning into non-existence, falling on Husk with an unfocused stare.

“What happened?”

Alastor didn’t have an answer aside from a small laugh, clenching his fist. Husk glanced back at Charlie, who was still watching the scene shellshocked. Except now she was looking at them. Especially Husk. Husk looked back at Alastor, who was now watching Niffty clean with record Olympian speed.

“Let’s go to your room, yeah? Come on-”

The scenery went up in radio screeching and Husk felt that familiar weightless, gutless feeling before his feet hit solid ground again. It took him a second to realize Alastor was now walking silently across the floor to his wardrobe and that he’d actually listened and taken them both to Alastor’s room, except this… wasn’t the hotel, this was Alastor’s house-

Alastor hung up his coat in the wardrobe and then brushed past Husk and out the door into the hallway. Husk trailed after quickly, soft steps nearly silent across the plush carpet as he followed the taller man into the living room, a radio switching onto a news broadcast without so much as a gesture from Alastor. Other things were also clicking on and roaring to life, things Alastor normally had to gesture to do so why-

And then Husk registered an obscenely high pitched frequency radiating out of Alastor, nearly impossible to notice without a heightened sense of hearing. Husk let a sigh out through his nose, trying to hide how his anxiety spiked once he realized Alastor’s powers were now definitely out of control and wild if things kept snapping on and off, which they were-

“Alastor, come here.”

Alastor paused, glanced over his shoulder, tightened the smile, and disappeared into the kitchen. Husk sighed and followed, taking his seat on the counter as Alastor started dragging things out of his icebox: butter, eggs, fresh fruit, chocolate sauce-

Stress baking. Husk didn’t know if stopping him was the best idea or not, so he let Alastor continue as things kept flicking on and off over and over and over again as Alastor snatched and bowl and a whisk. Husk felt like he could cut the tension with said fucking whisk, and he decided it might be best to stop Alastor before he expected Husk to devour everything he made.

“Hey, maybe let’s not cook your entire fridge.”

Husk’s tail snuck between Alastor and his ingredients. Alastor looked at it for a second and shoved it aside, reaching for a knife to start cutting up fruit.

And then the hand stopped as if suspended in midair. Shaking.

“Al?”

Alastor pulled his hand against his chest.

“Want me to cut it?”

Alastor stepped back and Husk snuck in the middle, taking the knife, hovering the blade over a strawberry. He made a fine cut to lop off its leaves when he heard Alastor jump and back up again. Husk was about to turn when Alastor darted out of the room, in a hurry this time. The amount of things snapping on and off picked up, and Husk wanted to shoot himself from the sudden light show, but he settled for popping the strawberry in his mouth, shoving everything back in the fridge, and hauling ass after Alastor. It was hard to tell where he’d disappeared to in the twisting maze that constituted his house, but Husk just rolled the dice and guessed the bathroom.

And sure enough, Alastor was there with his fingers clamped so tightly around the porcelain that it was cracking and shattering, chest heaving as whatever he’d eaten lately came up for a reappearance. … Except nothing was coming up, and Alastor was dry heaving, coughing up nothing.

Alastor hadn’t been eating.

Husk slumped down quietly against the cabinets under the sink, pulling his knees up to his chest. An odd sense of despair had settled into him. Not like the emptiness that came with long nights of booze fueled stupidity or a heart hollowed out like his wallet after a night of failed gambling. This was just helplessness. Hopelessness. Of not having answers or solutions to prop up the person who propped him up like an emotional crutch. And it sucked. It was terrible, and Husk couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Alastor felt when he was trying to pull Husk up on his own two feet after a bender.

Alastor fell sideways onto Husk’s lap, rolled over on his side so Husk couldn’t see his face.

“Can I touch you?”

A weak nod. Husk massaged Alastor’s scalp with his knuckles, careful not to accidentally pop out a claw that would set him off again. They’d already been through that wringer and Husk wasn’t ready to try dealing with that again. Alastor’s muscles eventually uncoiled and the seizure inducing lightshow of his house dragged to a halt. Husk was trying to mentally prepare himself to start asking the hard questions, questions that Alastor would keep protected under lock and key, all damned up under seventeen layers of trauma the demon wouldn’t admit ever existed. He let out a heavy sigh through his nose, tapping knuckles against Al’s head.

“Alastor, we have to start somewhere.”

Alastor laughed, the sound foreign to his body. The cat demon rolled the dice and flipped Alastor onto his back so he could see the fucker’s face and Alastor could actually maybe connect to whatever he thought he was talking to right now. The Radio Demon tried to escape Husk’s grip, but against Husk’s better judgement and knowing damn well this might set Alastor off, kept him planted in place. A brief flash of panic flared in Alastor’s eyes before he realized who he was looking at.

Husk couldn’t ignore the way Alastor had flexed his own claws poised to rip out Husk’s throat.

“Where do you want to start?”

Alastor was silent. Husk thumped his head back against the cabinet, tossing his hat up on the counter. Jesus Christ, is this what it was like for Al to deal with him? … No, because Husk vomited his emotions and everything that went through his stupid head and Alastor was terrified to let someone know he had one less hour of sleep on any given night.

Maybe start small?

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

Of course he wasn’t going to fucking answer.

“Fine, I’ll just go through your trash and look-” He started to get up and leave.

“I haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?”

“Eaten.”

A pang of heightened anxiety fueled worry. “In how long?”

“I haven’t.”

Husk closed his eyes and tried to let that not bother him, because normally Alastor had a black hole of a stomach. He resumed rubbing Alastor’s head like it was a genie bottle and he could wish for all the answers to make Alastor feel better, wish for all the answers to questions he needed answered. Alastor’s gaze fell half lidded, and with a soft click, his smile fell. An odd sense of relief flooded Husk all at once, maybe because the smile going down meant Alastor knew something was off, or maybe because he could now see how tired Alastor was, or maybe-

_ Or maybe _ didn’t matter, getting food in Alastor mattered.

“Go take a shower and change,” Husk tapped his skull. Trying to remember what Alastor had told him before on drunken self-pity fests. “I’m gonna make you something.”

“... You can’t cook.”

“I cook now,” Husk muttered, starting to push Alastor up. Alastor took the hint and materialized his cane, using it to haul himself on progressively more unsteady feet. He was physically weak. Husk had no clue how he’d managed to throw that poor soul who touched him into the wall, but he’d also seen crazier adrenaline-fueled insanity in war before. Alastor snapped and hot water began to run, a soft steam rolling out of the tub as warm water hit the porcelain. He gave Husk a pointed look, the cat demon rolling his eyes before walking out the door, shutting it with a soft click. He wandered back down to Alastor’s kitchen, listening closely to the water running through the pipes. Lucky enough for him, Alastor’s bedroom and kitchen were right above the kitchen.

He started rooting through cabinets for something simple and bland enough for someone that decided starving themself was a great idea, settling on the idea of chicken noodle soup. Something Alastor always made him by scratch, but for Husk, a can would do just fine. He dumped the contents into a pot and turned up the heat, stirring occasionally and listening closely. Water was still running. He could hear soft steps as Alastor moved around.

After ten minutes of vigilant listening and stirring, the water shut off. Husk heard a small thump  _ the mic stand now turned cane  _ and a few more footsteps after a brief pause. The sound led into the bedroom. A little bit of rustling and a few more thumps of the cane, and silence. Steps leading to the stairs, and sure enough, Husk heard Alastor making his way downstairs. The sounds of progress stopped in the living room followed by the sound of something creaking.

Husk poured Alastor a bowl of soup, grabbed a spoon and a few pieces of bread on a plate, and went to the living room.

Alastor was laying on his couch with a blanket, changed into PJs. His hair was somehow fluffier and more unruly damp, ears tilted slightly back. He perked up a little bit at the smell of food, taking the bowl from Husk gingerly. He glanced at Husk, then at it.

“It’s not homemade.”

Husk snorted. “I burnt ramen once, you expect me to make you homemade soup?”

Alastor’s noise warmed a bit at that memory. “... Milk?”

“Jesus, yes your majesty,” Husk rolled his eyes, getting a soft snicker from Alastor. The genuine sound warmed him from head to toe, that stupid fuzzy feeling that came with a soft, off the air Alastor without all the pomp and frills rooting deep in his heart again. He pulled milk out of the fridge and poured a tall glass.

Alastor took a huge drink when Husk passed it to him, and Husk wasn’t slow to notice Alastor had already devoured the entire bowl. Husk passed him the bread which also quickly disappeared, leaving Husk with an Alastor that now looked extremely tired. Husk took the plates and cup, setting them aside. Alastor grabbed one of his throw pillows and tucked it under his head, eyes drooping shut.

“... Al, do you not want your bed?”

He opened his eyes again, a soft glow filling the room. “Oh.”

“I’ll carry you, c’mon.”

“ _ No _ ,” Alastor said sharply, sitting up slowly. Part of his hair had been mushed up against his ear, creating a weird cowlick situation. He snatched his cane and blanket, Husk trailing behind as Alastor made his way upstairs, flopping into his bed unceremoniously. He glanced at Husk as he slipped under his quilt.

“You’re not sleeping in here.”

“When have I-” Husk massaged his temples. “I know, Al. … We do have to talk about this eventually, you realize that right?”

Alastor threw a blanket over his head in response.

_ Jesus Christ this is gonna be a struggle- _

Husk snatched it right back off and scowled. “Alastor, this is-”

“ _ I’m fine _ .”

Husk temper snapped like a twig. “I have known you for half a century at this fucking point. I know what every variation of your weirdass permasmile means, I know what you act like under stress, I know  _ you _ . Right now, Alastor, you killed someone.  _ Permanently _ . When was the last fucking time you did that, eh? That fucker isn’t coming back. Before all of this, you’d just- No, fucking look at me, Alastor - you’d fucking glare at them and move on. You know what you did? You  _ panicked _ . Your flight or fight or freeze went off and you bypassed fight and went for right for fucking  _ slaughter _ .”

Alastor was glaring at him. His eyes were practically bleeding venom.

“The night you came back? You were a mess. That doesn’t disappear overnight, Alastor.”

Alastor’s jaw was set tight. Husk knew he hated this. How could he not? Mr. Control Freak was spiraling and being called out on it. But beyond that, Alastor needed  _ help _ . Because-

“What if it was Niffty who touched you? What if it was me?”

Alastor  _ did not care for that at all _ .

“I know the difference between you and-”

“Alastor, I WATCHED YOU FUCKING DO IT! You didn’t look! You  _ panicked _ ! You were confused when it ended! You didn’t know what you did. Honestly, look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Do you even remember killing that poor fuck?”

“... I don’t.”

Husk’s anger faded. Alastor pulled his knees up to his chest and glanced out the window. It was dark. Heaven’s light was beginning to drift through, soft and kind. The cat demon deflated when Alastor’s ears slowly tipped back, halfway between upright and flattened against his skull. He was clenching his fist rapidly, the blacked red tinged skin a permanent reminder of the blood Alastor had spilled over the century. Husk took the opportunity.

“You need help.”

A dry laugh escaped Alastor. “We’re in Hell, Husker. We all need help.”

Husk didn’t know what to say. So he settled for reaching out, offering Alastor a paw. Alastor looked down at it and jumped back. Husk already knew what the problem was.

_ Claws _ .

Alastor wouldn’t take his hand.

Husk didn’t know if he ever would again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> broken boi


End file.
